


human-born cruelty

by gacrux



Category: Makai Ouji: Devils and Realist
Genre: M/M, manga specific characters, obscure pairings are my specialty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-22
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:10:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gacrux/pseuds/gacrux
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He truly was a wolf in sheep's clothing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	human-born cruelty

  

Michael's understanding of other beings, angels or otherwise, always had been rather limited, but Metatron was an exception all on his own. He was infuriating and deceitful, but he pulled a veil of nonchalance and charm over his entire demeanor. He spoke like a child but smiled like he was wearing a mask, and it was something far from the innocence a child might possess. Michael could see it; there was something cruel in Metatron's nonchalance, something sick in his charm.

 

He was truly a wolf in sheep's clothing.

 

Michael despised being confused, but here he was pondering over Metatron's behaviour. He acted like he wanted something from Michael, and he did, but there something about the way he smiled – like he was waiting. Waiting, watching, sneering from a distance.

 

Metatron smiled at him a lot. He smiled, acted like a complete dunce around the others, and then smiled some more. Michael didn't understand it, but that smile was worn like a warning and every time he saw it he felt angry. He could eliminate an entire garrison of demons, turn humans into puppets for his own personal use, and throw his own brothers out of heaven without so much as blinking, yet Metatron somehow managed to register as a threat? It wasn't right. Only Lucifer had even a chance of approaching him as an equal, but Metatron's smile came across as a declaration of war.

 

And then all this business of trying to get Michael to rest, like it mattered at all.

 

“ _Rest is what makes the noble angels of presence live longer.”_

 

Like Michael didn't already know that. How dare that human speak to him about things he had no understanding of. It was insulting, infuriating, belittling, and that was probably how Metatron hoped he would feel, but not what he set out to accomplish. What did he hope to gain from coaxing Michael to sleep? What would he do once Michael did go to rest?

 

But Michael could remember how warm his hands were with irksome clarity. It was frustrating because for hours after the encounter his wings burned where Metatron's hands had lingered, stroking his fading feathers affectionately, like he actually cared.

 

Michael despised being confused, but Metatron's games were far too complex to keep up with. Michael understood divine anger, truth, and punishment. Liars and masks and trickery were always beyond him, and Metatron played games like humans did. Michael hated humans because they didn't make sense to him. They were stupid, sinning, unnecessary creatures who possessed no sense of loyalty or allegiance to anyone but themselves. Comparatively, he hated Metatron because Metatron was human once and thus understood their madness better than he ever would, but also because he lorded that understanding over Michael and mocked him when Michael didn't understand.

 

“ _Don't you actually wanted to rest quite a lot?”_

 

Of course he did – but he couldn't. Not yet. The weariness dragged down his wings and took the flush from his skin, but he couldn't sleep yet. Not when Lucifer still ruled hell, not when he still posed a threat.

 

Yet here Metatron was, taunting him about it.

 

And the problem wasn't that Michael took what Metatron said to heart, he would _never_ , but that Metatron persisted in mocking him at all. Michael wasn't weak, he had a reputation for cruelty and and his justice was brutal, but lately he'd felt like the others weren't taking him seriously. It was an irritant, but it wouldn't normally have been a problem. Until Metatron, of course. Metatron was the only one that approached him so casually, and he was the only one that made jokes at his expense. It was like he assumed that just because Michael hadn't torn out his wings yet that he wouldn't, or worse, couldn't do it in the blink of an eye.

 

His teasing wasn't careless either. It was precise even though he sounded ditzy and haphazard, and every word had the potential to strike a chord. Michael hated dishonesty in the first place, but the way Metatron corrupted the truth was so much worse. He mixed facts in with lies and made discerning his true feelings an impossible game.

 

Maybe that was it. Metatron played games built upon lie after lie without a trace of honesty, not for Michael, probably to spite him, and it upset him.

 

“ _Perhaps I should sleep beside you?”_

 

That was hardly fair. His ears still burned furiously from that remark, even now. He hated that.

 

Angels didn't rest together – that was an act of submission, of vulnerability. To rest with another angel was to have intimate trust in them that was reciprocated in kind. It hardly ever happened, mostly because angels were untrustworthy by nature. The paranoia wasn't unjustified. Some angels used that sort of intimacy to get behind another angel's defences, to kill them or use them or mock them about it. It had happened before and it would happen again. Michael would never let anyone rest with him for that reason. That Metatron even suggested it was stupid and arrogant and condescending.

 

Michael _hated_ him.

 

But his voice had been soft and warm on his cheek, playing a new game where they were as close as two souls could possibly be, and all Michael could do was blow up the stupid pillow and walk away. Metatron disgusted him but he always managed to get close to him, under his skin, inside his head. He was like a parasite that no amount of running could shake off. Not with his claws already so deep in him.

 

It wasn't like he was always there, either. He turned up just often enough to keep Michael thinking of him, to make him wary and irritated, but still thinking of him nonetheless. It was just another game on a long list of games that Metatron liked to play. It was just another pretence, a taunt in the form of a smile, just another human-born cruelty Michael would never understand.

 

Metatron was infuriating, but there was no way to get him out from under Michael's skin.

**Author's Note:**

> By the way I kind of headcanon'd the whole 'angels sleeping together' thing because I like the idea that Metatron was being extra creepy towards Michael to mess with him.


End file.
